


Return of the Party Daddy

by econator



Series: Party Daddy [2]
Category: Formula 1 RPF, Formula E RPF
Genre: Couch Surfing, Gen, Major change, an old hookup returns, unemployment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-13 21:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21004658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/econator/pseuds/econator
Summary: Jaime is sick of Jev living on his sofa, and takes him for coffee. Jev finds hope of rebirth in an unexpected place.





	Return of the Party Daddy

**Author's Note:**

> Some warnings for strong language, and Jev being disdainful of jobs outside of racing cars.

As the drink-hazed fog of sleep cleared, Jev became aware of Jaime standing over him with his arms crossed and the face he reserved for when Jev spilled pasta water on the stove and didn't clean it up before it burned. Shit. This probably wasn't going to end well. It definitely wasn't about pasta water, but it definitely wasn't good.

'Sorry, did I leave a floater in the toilet when I got home last night? I had a pretty big kebab on the way home from the club.'

'No, I'm not upset with you.'

Maybe not upset, but probably disappointed. Jev thought he could see a bit of pity in Jaime's face as well. Jaime had bounced out of Red Bull into DJing and had enough motivation from that to land a drive in Formula E. Sure, it was a series for has-beens and never-wases, but it was a racing drive, which was definitely more than Jev had right now.

'Why are you standing over me?'

'It's been three weeks, man.'

Jev pulled the blanket into his lap as he sat up.

'Yeah.' He looked out the window at the bright late morning outside, wishing Jaime hadn't opened the curtains. 'Sorry about that.'

'Have you called around for a new manager?'

Jev sighed, wishing he could cuss Jaime out for poking at his sore points. Unfortunately, it was his flat, his sofa on which Jev had slept since his lease in Milton Keynes expired, and goodwill had its limits. He figured he was probably past the limits of Jaime's goodwill right now.

'Nobody has space on their books for a new driver.'

'Okay, so you called, what, three people? One per week?'

Jev ran his hand through his hair.

'I called every manager in Europe who represents four-wheel drivers. Helmut made good on his promise that I wouldn't find anyone to take me on.'

'Okay. Let's go for coffee in Soho. We'll see if anyone's looking for a bar tender. You may as well get paid to drink.'

Jev recoiled.

'A bar tender? I have a superlicense!'

'And we both have bills to pay. Unless you want to go to a strip club and see if they're looking for bony twinks?'

'No! Fuck you. No, absolutely not. I'm not doing that. My body is only for sale for what it can do, not what it looks like. Nobody can see my body. I don't want it on display for perverted strangers. No, fuck you, fuck that, just fuck off.'

'Do you have any other skills to sell?'

'My head hurts,' Jev moaned, sagging sideways onto the sofa as he pulled the blanket up over his head.

'Okay, I'll get you water and aspirin. Then I take you for coffee, and we find you a job so you have money of your own.'

'Thanks,' he said as Jaime walked away, not really feeling the gratitude.

Jev opened his eyes, moving the blanket just far enough so he could see the crack in the ceiling that had come to represent the disintegration of life as he knew it. He wished Petra would return one of his texts instead of posting those shitty motivational quotes on her Instagram. He had probably come over as needy and whiny, but that's no reason for her to ghost him. She was so beautiful. He wanted her to come to London and comfort him, but he couldn't pay for her ticket. Not even on SleazyJet, a fact that made Jev wish he had a trust fund to draw down between contracts. Fuck. And now Jaime was dragging him off to get a loser job like a normal person. Fuck.

Jev turned the cup around in the saucer, wondering if he could ever master making milk swirls. Was a barista higher or lower than a bar tender on the social hierarchy of minimum wage jobs? Both were definitely above cleaning hotel rooms, which Jaime had perkily suggested he do as they passed a hotel. He seemed to be enjoying Jev's intense self-loathing at the thought of work that didn't involve cars. Thankfully, the perky Spanish fucker was in the bathroom. He'd been gone a suspiciously long time, but Jev's thoughts were best enjoyed alone.

'Hey!' a man said in French, touching Jev's shoulder.

He looked up. The guy's face was familiar in a way that made Jev think he'd hooked up with him a while back. Hot, though. Jev smiled, standing up to shake his hand.

'Hey yourself.'

'Carl, remember?'

He took Jev's hand gently in his, running his thumb over the back side. Yes, now he remembered. It all came rushing back. The helicopter ride from Chichester into London, through the golden-rose sky of autumn. The delicious meal, cooked by the even more delicious man.

'Yeah, I remember. Goodwood 2011.' Jev smiled, trying to keep it from turning into a desperate grin.

'Yeah.' Carl dropped Jev's hand. He crossed his arms, giving him a half smile. 'I'm sorry about how it ended with Red Bull.'

'Yeah, well.' Jev rolled the hem of his t-shirt between his fingers, staring at the brickwork wall as he wished he had progress to report. 'And you? What are you up to these days?'

The smile on Carl's face glitched.

'You know my dad passed away?'

Why yes, yes he did. He'd tried calling the guy to find out if he would represent him in one last hail Mary to keep his racing hopes alive, only to find that he'd missed the older Gurdjian by a few months.

'I was very sorry to hear about that.'

'Thanks.' Carl looked awkward. He seemed to have lost the swagger Jev remembered from their previous meeting. 'I'm trying to sort out his estate, the business, all that stuff.'

'I'm sorry. Is it lots of work?'

'No. Look, when I saw you in here, I remembered that you'd called his old office last week. Sorry I didn't get back to you. I was...grieving.' He glanced out the window as he took a breath. 'Were you calling for condolences, or were you, uh, looking for his services?'

Jev looked at Carl's face, trying to gauge how much honesty was needed in such a delicate situation.

'I should have googled before I called. I'm sorry.'

'No. I get it. Uh, I'm trying to get a few new, younger clients for the business. Give it a bit of a rebrand. Make it my own, now that I've inherited it.'

'Cool.' It wasn't really cool. Carl's emphasis on the youth of his new clients made him feel excluded as a Formula One washout. He cleared his throat. 'Who were you thinking of targeting? I hear Hubert's good. Doing well in karting at the moment. Him and Leclerc would be a good pairing in single seaters.'

'Maybe not that young.'

'Idiot,' Jaime said, sliding into the booth next to his macchiato. 'He's asking you if you want representation.'

Jev felt like hugging Carl with all four of his limbs at the thought of him actually wanting Jev as a driver, not just, as Jaime had said, a bony twink. At the same time, he felt like he should crawl under the table and out the door for being so gauche that he didn't notice the offer of new management.

'Oh,' he said, wishing more words were available in his mind.

'And yes,' Jaime continued as though he'd been part of the conversation all along. 'Jev is looking for a new manager. If you could get him a fully funded drive for next year, that'd be great.' He looked at Jev pointedly. 'For all of us. He'll give you twenty percent of all the paid work and sponsorship you find, and the same cut of his winnings.'

'I thought maybe ten,' Jev said quietly to Jaime, feeling indignant that the cheeky fucker had just taken over the direction of his life like that.

Not that he was unhappy to have a manager, especially not one as gorgeous and cool as Carl, but that wasn't the point. Carl squeezed Jev's shoulder with his giant hand.

'Twenty it is. I'll send you the paperwork this afternoon.'

Jaime pulled a stick of eyeliner out of his pocket and scribbled his address on the napkin under his cup.

'Send it to this address. I'll make sure he signs and returns it.'

'Cool, thanks.' Carl grinned at Jaime as he ran his thumb over the side of Jev's neck. He looked at Jev with a soft expression on his face. 'I look forward to working together.'

'Me too.'

'Are you going to tell me where you met the sexy management daddy who clearly has some feelings for you?' Jaime said once Carl was out of earshot. 'Or is this one of those stories about you being your slutty self that I'd prefer to not know?'

Jev wanted to tell Jaime, wanted to share all the juicy details of that one heavenly night in Kensington. Mostly, he wanted to be that kid again. He wanted to go back to a time before he knew how brutal his chosen profession really was. He drained the last of his coffee, and set it back on the saucer.

'I think maybe you'd prefer to not know that story. Maybe I'll tell you after my next win, when I'm drunk on adrenaline and champagne.'

'Okay. Well. Nice that you have a manager now, no?'

'Yes,' Jev said, feeling like he was about to explode from the relief of not needing to become a stripper. 'Very nice.'


End file.
